


His Only Tell

by trueblackhand



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Knotting, Lactation, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Porn With Plot, alpha!Jesse, omega!hanzo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-09 23:05:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12286119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trueblackhand/pseuds/trueblackhand
Summary: Being an omega is a secret Hanzo Shimada plans on taking to the grave.His life in Hanamura was cruel enough to demand it, make that fate seem utterly inescapable. But Overwatch is different, the people here are different.He meets an alpha. One with honeyed words and deft hands to soothe the hardest of his hurts, one that can take him apart so gently Hanzo doesn't notice until he's stripped bare.It changes everything.





	His Only Tell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sciencefictioness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/gifts).



> This is the fluffiest porn I've ever written.

### I.

 

For the most part, no one knows Hanzo is an omega.

Genji does, of course. His alpha brother privy to the secret shame of the Shimada family; an omega heir.

One that defected, at that.

It's become an odd point of bonding for them —Genji scolds him for denying his nature and Hanzo rebuffs. They’ve spent years apart, have more baggage than most would touch, but Genji is a brother to him still.

A much needed comfort, a piece of home.

But despite the well meaning words, Hanzo cannot come clean so easily. The world he knows is cruel, and his habits are ingrained deep. Omegas are not warriors, they do not fight, they do not rule. What started as ‘for the clan’ evolves into for _himself,_ so he can continue to live as wants.

For all intents and purposes, Hanzo Shimada is a beta, his only tell the ‘Ω’ on his medical file.

It's second nature to him, a lie suffused so deeply he _must_ believe it. Some days he almost does, because truthfully, Hanzo knows more of being a beta than anything else. Chemicals and suppressants have embroiled his life for so long-- who and what he is without them is a mystery.

He doesn’t shed his disguise, not even after joining Overwatch. If there are any other omegas within their ranks Hanzo imagines they’re much like him; hidden away, obfuscated by the cycle suppressant that are all but mandatory.

Only a handful of weeks have passed since his arrival, not enough time to be sure of Genji’s coaxing, tentative efforts to break him from his shell.

_‘You are not alone, anija. This place is not like Hanamura.’_

One day, Hanzo hopes he can believe that.

 

### II.

 

Hanzo is not a mutable person by nature.

There’s too much of his father’s discipline left in him for that. Rare is the occasion which forces him to challenge his steadfast beliefs and question what he reserves as unquestionable.

By that line of thought; Jesse is unexpected.

He creeps under Hanzo’s skin and into his life without permission, without Hanzo ever realising it’s happening. There’s something about Jesse’s playful, cowboy demeanour and smooth, flirtatious glances that make Hanzo soften. Just for him. Because he can’t resist the way those big hands feel warm on his skin when they linger too long, or the way Jesse always smells like pine needles and tobacco, deliciously alpha in the downtime from his missions.

It takes months, but it cumulates with a kiss one night after a victory and too much liquor.

Hanzo's not sure how it happens— it's a subtle shift, Jesse pausing in his laughter to draw their lips together. Sweet enough Hanzo can’t deny it, Jesse, or himself. There’s a bone deep urge to please in him that he can’t temper down. So he melts for it, lets Jesse tangle their lips, their bodies.

In the end it's _Hanzo_ who finally drags them back to his room.

Jesse wastes no time once they're alone, barely illuminated by inky moonlight streaming in through the open window. His hands steal under Hanzo's clothes, cupping over his straining cock moving steadily lower until his fingers tease the entrance to Hanzo’s body.

He's not wet, not like he _should_ be. Not ready or open, Jesse has to ply him for that— ease his fingers in deep and spread them while Hanzo keens softly.

To his credit, Jesse never mentions it.

It feels like an impossible stretch when Jesse finally sinks inside him, hot and thick and _right_ in some indescribable way. He doesn’t knot, and Hanzo doesn’t ask, worried he’d beg Jesse for it every night if he does.

 

### III.

 

The only other person aware of his condition is one Dr Angela Zeigler, or _Mercy,_ as the Overwatch crew dubs her.

She sits across from him, brushing a lock of golden hair from the delicate slope of her brow as she taps a pen to her lips.

The silence stretches, and Hanzo shifts uncomfortably in his seat. They’re both aware of how little he wants to be here, but she never keeps him long without reason.

Something is wrong.

“Hanzo—” Angela begins, and he doesn’t like where this is going, “you need to come off the suppressants.”

It doesn’t register for a moment, he just stares unseeingly over Angela’s shoulder, there’s a tile in the corner of the room with a chip missing from it. His pulse shudders in his neck, an uncomfortable, claustrophobic feeling unfolding in his stomach.

“Hanzo,” she’s firmer with him now, voice taking on a scolding tone that distantly reminds him of his mother, “this is serious.”

There's a list after that, one filled with enough uncomfortable medical terms it makes Hanzo squirm to sit through, but it gets the point across.

He's cut off.

 

### IV.

 

At least three months. That’s how long he has to wait, a full cycle through a heat he hasn’t experienced since boyhood. The thought is enough to have his chest constricting, every inhale like sucking water into his lungs.

He drowns in his panic, though there’s barely a twitch of his eye to show it.

After the reveal Angela had watched him leave with worried eyes, knowing full well how much she was asking of him. She’d tried her best to counsel him, offered him an alternative; a position in Gibraltar for exactly three months.

He hadn’t taken it. Why hadn’t he taken it—? Hanzo already knows, he just rolls the reason around on his tongue. Even the privacy of his own mind doesn’t feel like true sanctuary, not from the seemingly bottomless depths of his guilt. Eating at him, always preying on his thought.

Through the red tinted haze of fear and displacement, he knows it’s Jesse that decides this for him.

Hanzo doesn’t mean for it, but his first instinct is to find him, find his alpha, and nest. _Nest._ Like the omega he is.

That alone makes him shudder, revulsed— confused, and oddly, unexpectedly, _hopeful._

It's short sighted, but this isn’t a scenario Hanzo prepared for. He never allowed himself to consider it. Without Overwatch, without Angela, or Jesse, or his brother, he’d have maintained that, submitted himself to taking his medicine until he rotted inside out. Doctor’s orders, or no.

But —and that voice of reason in his head is small and broken— a part of him longs to be free. Wants Jesse to know what he is. Aches for it, aches for everything he’s ever denied himself under his father’s command or the dictates of society.

It’s tangled in old hurts, painful to uncover, but it drives him nonetheless.

 

### V.

 

Hanzo comes to him with panic still flaring hot in his psyche. It must show on his face because the first thing Jesse does is tuck him under his chin, his thick fingers settling on the back of Hanzo’s neck.

"Easy now, darlin'."

A wave of relief knocks Hanzo’s knees out from under him, leaving him slumped against Jesse’s barrel chest.

“What’s got you like this, sweetheart? Swear I ain’t ever seen you anythin’ but proud.”

It takes him a moment to answer, distracted by the soothing circles rubbed against his scent glands. A feature Jesse doesn’t even know he has, but the motion seems ingrained in him nonetheless.

Hanzo doesn’t tell him to stop.

"Darlin'?"

He barely hears him, it’s all muted and far away, the only the comforting warmth of Jesse’s body grounding him. His throat locks up tight, constricting against words he knows he has to say. He chose this, chose to stop his lies, but it’s hard, unspeakably so.

"... Jesse."

There's no simple way to come clean, and if this man hadn't been the bedrock foundation of his life for the past few months Hanzo would have turned tail and taken that flight to Gibraltar.

"I am not... what I have claimed to be." He pulls away from Jesse’s warmth, undeserving of that small comfort.

It had been too easy, his body so broken and riddled even Jesse's alpha scent hadn't been enough to make that telltale omega slick pool between his thighs. Jesse had never minded, supplementing his lack with the hot press of his mouth, easing him open with lube wet fingers.

Jesse doesn’t say anything, just tugs him closer, leaving Hanzo to muffle his confession into the soft fabric of a standard issue t-shirt.

"I was fifteen when I presented," the words force themselves out stiff, though it's a relief to say them, "an omega heir from a yakuza family-- you understand, hiding was a necessity."

It's still a point of shame for him, so many years later, his teeth grit against the sting of it. "I-I never learned how to be what I am.”

"Oh, sugar." Lips graze over Hanzo’s temple, Jesse kissing him while he holds Hanzo against his broad chest. "I had my suspicions," he admits, his low drawl quiet and careful, flesh hand still gently petting over Hanzo's neck. "I wasn't gonna push it, but I can see you've been hurting, sunshine. See you needed to take your time. I don’t know what got you thinkin’ there’s something wrong with what you are— but you won’t find any judgement here.”

Hanzo’s pulse throbs weakly in his ears, the core of him breaking open for Jesse’s gentle, patient words.

Perhaps Genji was right, after all.

“Now, you look at me, sweetheart,” Jesse’s hand brushes his cheek and tilts his head up, “ain’t nothing gonna change if you don’t want it, but if your heat comes an’ you want my help, I’ll be there.”

Hanzo has always hated feeling small, convinced himself it’s not something he desires. But in truth he treasures how Jesse holds him, finds solace in how that big frame encompasses him like he’s some fragile, delicate thing.

“Thank you.”

It’s all he can say, those two words pushed out of him, Jesse’s reassurance leaving him dizzy.

“No, darlin’, thank _you.”_

 

### VI.

 

His heat comes within the week.

In some cruel shift of irony, Jesse is away when it strikes.

A budding warmth in his stomach gradually ebbs lower, swelling between his thighs and smoldering within. He doesn’t bolt from where he’s stood in the practice range, but he does walk _very quickly_ back to the barracks, hyper-aware of the few curious glances shot his way.

Hanzo’s legs are liquid under him by the time he makes it back to Jesse’s room, seeking to bury himself in scent of his absent alpha. He can feel slick trickling down the back of his thighs, and his panic sparks at the unfamiliarity of it all. It’s not entirely unknown to him but the memories it dregs up do him no favours.

He’d been drugged the first time this happened, restrained and shot through with sedatives making most of his virgin heat a surreal narcotic fog.

Experiencing it in actuality is no better.

Vicious need claws its way under his skin, and he’s shocked by the potency of it— how fast and easily it brings him to his knees. He barely makes it to the bed, his flesh raw where it rubs against fabric, his hands peeling away the offending clothing.

Jesse had better be back soon.

 

### VII.

 

Hanzo is drifting, naked as the day he was born and snuggling into pillows still smelling like those faint notes of spice and pine. His hips twitch against the bedsheets, languorous but seeking friction.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” Jesse’s voice wakes him from his half formed slumber.

“Jesse—” he turns on the bed and Jesse’s there; tantalisingly close. A shudder chases up his spine and Jesse’s eyes follow the movement. “It’s time.” His _time._

“Oh, I know, darlin’. I can smell it on you.”

That sentence alone is enough to make an instinctive part of him preen, the scent of his heat recognised by his alpha.

"What," he’s afraid to ask, as though Jesse’s reply would somehow make it real, "what is it like?"

For a moment, Jesse doesn’t answer. He leans in and buries his nose against Hanzo’s neck, drawing in a deep breath that spreads tingles across Hanzo’s sensitive skin. When he pulls back his bottom lip bitten down, handsome face crossed between glassy want and hungry elation. "There ain't no words for you sweetheart, but if you give me time--" he rumbles, nostrils flaring, "I'll find them for you."

At first Hanzo wants to flinch at the non-answer, then Jesse reaches to wrap one big hand around his wrist.

"It's good, sweetheart. You smell like you're meant to be mine."

Hanzo's heart beats like a wild thing trying to struggle free of his ribs. "Jesse." He wants that, wants it deeper than instinct or desire, needs to belong, to find that safe spot in Jesse's chest and make it home.

They find each other, and this part is familiar. Jesse's deep kisses and playful teasing, his big hands and thick fingers— but it all seems like more with heat encroaching on Hanzo's mind. It makes him needy, embarrassingly desperate already.

His fingers finds their way under Jesse's shirt, toying with the patch of hair that snakes down Jesse's underbelly, teasing the soft skin with his nails until Jesse groans into their kiss. Hanzo finds his hand drawn away, brought to Jesse's mouth, a sly grin sent his way that shouldn't fill him with so much painful want but does anyway.

“None of that now sweetheart, you just let me take care of ya.”

Hanzo’s breath huffs out of him in barely suppressed want. He _needs_ Jesse in him. His stomach is full of a nervous buzz, anticipation, the tenuous remains of fear. Everything he's ever wanted and ever denied lays before him now, gazing at him with adoring eyes.

“I--” Hanzo’s tongue moves to protest before he catches it. “Yes.” He lets himself go limp. Jesse’s arms cradle around him, pulling them closer together.

“Just look at you, darlin’, ain’t you gorgeous? Prettiest thing I ever saw.”

Hanzo turns his face away from the praise. It shouldn’t make his cheeks warm, he deserves none of it.

But Jesse… Jesse looks at him no different. Kisses him no different. He showers every inch of Hanzo with worshipful attention, working a path with his mouth that trails from the tips of his toes to the inside of his thighs. Finally Jesse dips his head and spreads Hanzo's legs apart.

It's all Hanzo can do to lay still and not hide his face. There's slick on his skin, more gathering with every hot brush of Jesse's mouth on him. When those fingers slip between the apex of his legs, Hanzo caves, pulling an arm over his face to hide his eyes, squeezing them shut against the weight of his humiliation when he’s revealed for what he is.

_Omega._

Soaked with his own fluids, sickly in his heat. The too sweet scent of it cloying in the air around them.

Jesse doesn’t flinch or scold. Doesn’t give him that same look of disappointment his father had all those years ago. Instead there’s hunger in those soft brown eyes like nothing he’s seen before.

“So wet for for me, sweetheart,” Jesse all but growls it, voice rough with wanting, his fingers petting over Hanzo’s hole, forcing him to bite back a whine.

 _It's biological imperative,_ Hanzo wants to protest. Not _for_ Jesse, just his body's command. But that’s far from the truth. There's no way he can pretend his hips don't arch into the gentle pressure of Jesse’s fingers, or that it doesn’t make the impossible gulf of need that ebbs in his stomach all the more potent.

“Jesse—” Hanzo’s a moment away from begging, his thighs shaking, words dissolving into mute, barely audible whimpers as Jesse’s withdraws.

Clothes hit the floor as Jesse strips himself bare with fast, ragged tugs, impatiently throwing items down. Hanzo can smell the desire on him, something heady that makes him shudder in sympathetic need. Jesse crawls over him, smoothing his hands up Hanzo’s arms as he places them overhead. Hanzo’s insides turn to liquid flame, Jesse’s cock rubbing up against his thigh, impossibly hot against his skin.

It’s as carnal as it is tender, Hanzo can’t think for Jesse’s mouth on his, kissing him with unexpected ferocity. Jesse’s tongue pushes between his lips, wilfully fucking into the hollow of his mouth while they grind together.

“Mine.”

Jesse stamps his teeth into the column of Hanzo’s neck, sucking over his pulse until blood wells to the surface. Leaving him marked. Claimed.

_Yes._

He’s Jesse’s, without question, without complaint.

Warm lips drag over the swell of Hanzo’s chest, Jesse’s pupils blown wide and watching unflinchingly as his mouth envelopes one of Hanzo’s overripe nipples.

There’s no way he should be this sensitive. Just the touch of Jesse’s lips feels like a brand on his skin, sensation shooting directly through him, spitfire in his veins. Then Jesse sucks and Hanzo’s body spasms, a jumble of curses pouring from his lips at the sharp, pleasure pain.

He’s panting, squirming through it when he notices Jesse motionless against him. It's undeniable, and troubling enough that Hanzo's brows furrow in confusion.

The tiniest detail; Jesse’s throat working, swallowing down.

His eyes are shut tight, breath coming hard through his nose, and when Jesse raises his head up Hanzo can’t pull his gaze from the wet rim of his mouth. There’s a bead of white pearled on the edge of those swollen lips, more telling than words.

Jesse licks it away.

Mortification knocks the air from Hanzo’s lungs, constricting his throat and sending confusing heat to his face, his neck, between his legs.

“W-What—”

Looking down, Hanzo can see where _it’s_ spilling out of him, just as surely as the slick between his thighs. He doesn’t dare give it a name. Jesse growls in his ear, a low rumbling sound, his hands squeezing over Hanzo's tender chest with a roughness he only ever gives when Hanzo whines sweetly for it.

There’s no prompting this time.

“Fuck,” Jesse’s mumbling to himself, eyes fixed where his fingers toy and tug at Hanzo’s nipples, lapping over his skin intermittently.

_So good for me, darlin’. So sweet._

It’s impossible to feel disgust when Jesse looks at him with nothing but proud, fierce want.

He can’t even protest when Jesse’s head lowers again, drawing as much of his breast into his mouth as possible, bringing it to the back of his throat so he can suck, hard.

Hanzo’s cock strains up against his stomach. It hurts.

It hurts and it’s good.

Pressure cuts through him, reaching deep inside with every pull of Jesse’s mouth. It washes over his skin, bathing him in a melting warmth. The ragged panting, the sobs that spill freely from his lips, all sound far away.

_“Jesse.”_

He’s begging, pleading. Unsure what even for. Everything around him is a white hot blaze, his vision dotted in colourful specks of light.

“Didn’t expect it to be like this— god, darlin’, want you so bad.”

Vindicated by the harsh rasp in Jesse’s voice, Hanzo digs his nails into broad shoulders dragging them down Jesse’s back mercilessly. Jesse shudders for it, his teeth catching on Hanzo’s chest and tearing a cry from his throat.

“Hurry,” Hanzo grits out through the static ringing in his ears.

There’s always been desire between them, but not like this. Not some animal frenzy that makes Hanzo want to scream every second Jesse isn’t inside him.

Jesse murmurs something indistinct and presses two fingers into him. They slip in so easily it should alarm him, but it doesn’t. It feels _right._ Natural in some esoteric way, and yet somehow— _not enough._

He wants Jesse to fuck him stupid, until he’s drooling and undignified, begging for a knot. Needs it like he needs air to breathe, gasping wetly against Jesse’s neck as those fingers screw as deeply as they can go.

Jesse kisses him then, crushes their mouths together and slips him the taste of something sweet and creamy that flares the frightening need in Hanzo’s chest brighter.

He’s nearly sobbing by the time Jesse’s big hands flip him over, one palm pushing between his shoulder blades and guiding Hanzo’s chest flat against the bed. Without meaning to, he falls into it, pushing his hips high with his knees knocked wide.

They don’t fuck like this. Jesse doesn’t toss him around or spread him with his thumbs just to breath hot at the sight of him open and soaked, but he does now. The weight of those eyes on him don't quite register, don't stoke the same embarrassment as it would have before.

 _Do you like this?_ His body seems to say, arching and displaying so prettily. Hanzo’s barely aware of it, shackled to the need to please. It’s all that matters; being good so he’ll be pinned, fucked, _bred._

Hanzo whines, and behind him Jesse curses, the thick head of his cock dragging between Hanzo’s cheeks, teasing against his hole.

He can feel wetness soaking the sheet beneath his chest, running down his thighs, beading at the corners of his eyes.

Then Jesse’s sinks home and there’s nothing.

No years of repression, no unfamiliarity with all that he is. Just a synesthesia of pleasure that swallows him whole and rains lightning across his skin.

Some unfathomable tension within him snaps, relief so potent he could drown in sensation forever.

Jesse’s hips rut forward, the thick head of his cock dragging against Hanzo’s prostate enough to make him shout. It pushes deeper still, kissing up against some hidden ring of muscle that has Hanzo pressing his hands against his stomach in disbelief. He can feel Jesse there, opening up that forbidden place, something he’d all but forgotten he has.

There’s no time to process it, no room in his mind for questions.

Hanzo mouths Jesse’s name into the sheets, mindlessly wanton between his muted whisperings of _please, please, please_ —

Jesse balls a fist in his hair, pushes him down, and covers Hanzo with the bulk of his chest. His thrusts are ceaseless, accompanied by his mouth at Hanzo’s ear, on his neck, teeth sinking into swollen glands.

Hanzo spasms around him, his breathless scream cut off into silence as he shatters, coming apart only to be pieced back together by the feel of Jesse swelling within him. His cock twitches weakly, but even orgasm doesn’t quell the ache of his heat. It rages through him still, demanding more, that Jesse lock them together and tie them deep.

_“A-Alpha.”_

The word comes out as chopped, broken syllables, tasting like blood on his lips.

“Han—” Jesse pants hard against his throat. “Fuck, sweetheart. Let me, let me—”   

Hanzo makes a sympathetic noise of understanding, nodding and pushing himself back as Jesse grinds into him, cock tugging at his rim with every shift of their hips. He needs it, knows intrinsically somewhere deep down he always has.

Jesse takes his quiet mewling as permission, stuttering curses against Hanzo’s skin, his thrusts turning brutal as he sinks in with a groan. The painful desires Hanzo has guarded for decades surge forward, leaving him trembling, tears slipping down his cheeks as he’s spread what feels like impossibly wide.

Jesse’s cock pulses hot within him, Hanzo’s name on his lips, filling him finally, _finally._ Hanzo’s eyes are open but all he sees are stars, before fading out into perfect, unwavering darkness.

There’s a moment of almost quiet, the small room crowded with the sound of their shared panting.

Lips find their way to his neck, a tongue lapping over the indents of teeth Jesse’s surely left. It’s an apology without words, neither of them can seem to find the will to speak. Hanzo’s afraid that if he does this tentative peace will shatter and his heat will flare anew.

It doesn’t, not yet at least.

Hanzo saves his questions, his worries, for the morning, and lets Jesse turn and tuck him against his chest. His fingers wander down to his distended belly, revelling in how swollen he is. How deeply he can feel Jesse inside him.

He’ll be sore later, his body unused to such rough treatment, but in that moment he is untouchable.

Time passes, and Hanzo finds a few words that he can manage. They escape him in a breath so light he can barely hear himself.

_“Thank you.”_

Jesse’s hand cups his face, turning his head so they can kiss.

No more words are needed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I had a blast writing this! Thank you all for reading ;3
> 
> Help sustain a hapless writer, leave a comment ;'D ♥  
> Or come find me @[trueblackhand](https://trueblackhand.tumblr.com/)|tumblr


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